


a sense of touch

by liketheroad



Category: Bandom
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-04-10
Updated: 2011-04-10
Packaged: 2017-10-17 22:04:37
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 16,247
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/181714
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/liketheroad/pseuds/liketheroad
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>from the very beginning, slowly at first but always steadily growing towards more, they touched. So much and eventually so without thought that they never had to wonder why it felt wrong when they didn’t, because that itself happened so infrequently. </i></p>
            </blockquote>





	a sense of touch

They don’t notice it until Brendon, but looking back, Spencer and Ryan decide it’s probably been happening since the beginning.

 

They always touched. Spencer was used to hugs and pats on the back and shoulder, little casual gestures that meant family, home. Ryan was not. Not when he first came to Spencer, smaller than made sense for someone his age, warier too. But Spencer was good at knocking down Ryan’s barriers by pretending he didn’t see them, he played up his childish obliviousness to cover for the way he cataloged every one of the frightened looks that clung to the corner of Ryan’s eyes and the sharp, high set of his shoulders.

 

So, from the very beginning, slowly at first but always steadily growing towards more, they touched. So much and eventually so without thought that they never had to wonder why it felt wrong when they didn’t, because that itself happened so infrequently. Ryan had headaches, bruises, cuts that didn’t belong; all of those were there already when Spencer got him, and so he didn’t notice them himself, at first, either. If he’d thought about it, maybe he would have noticed that there was a dull ache at the back of his skull, sometimes, if he hadn’t seen Ryan for a few hours, or growing more persistent if it had been a day. But there was always something else to point to, something to blame.

 

It happens enough, for enough years, that Spencer doesn’t really think about it as anything but the way his body works. Doesn’t associate it with anything in particular.

 

“The pain of being alive,” Ryan always says, his mouth curling up into a knowing smirk.

 

It’s all they ever say to each other about it.

 

That is, until Brent brings Brendon into Spencer’s garage and says, “This is Brendon, I think he might be good for the band.” And then waves his hand in the general direction of their instruments, not really looking at either Ryan or Spencer.

 

Knowing Ryan, feeling the way he tenses against Spencer’s side, Spencer gets it. They are who they are, so he looks at Ryan first before even really taking Brendon in. He tries to remind Ryan with his eyes that sometimes it’s okay to trust. Because it’s Ryan, he hears it, and even tries to listen.

 

They get up together and walk over to Brendon, who smiles big enough to be covering for something but judging by the way he’s bouncing slightly, Spencer is willing to put that down to simple nervousness.

 

Spencer and Ryan are standing with their sides brushing occasionally, their pinkies joined. It’s nothing they plan, or think much about, it’s just another way they’ve been gravitating towards each other by inches since they met. Spencer extends the hand not connected to Ryan out to Brendon.

 

He looks at it first, making sure it’s permission, before taking Spencer’s hand in his. Spencer almost takes a step backward at the feeling of Brendon’s skin against his. Its not sparks, but heat, low and familiar. He turns sharply into Ryan, who is already looking at him when he does. Whatever it is, connected through Spencer, Ryan feels it too. It’s been longer than normal, or customary, but Spencer is still holding Brendon’s hand. He glances at Brent, who is looking mildly uncomfortable but largely bored. Brendon is looking back and forth between Ryan and Spencer curiously. Spencer is surprised by how much that curiosity mirrors his own.

 

“Spencer,” He identifies himself eventually, still holding Brendon’s hand.

 

Ryan murmurs something against his ear, and he let’s Brendon’s hand go. Ryan’s is taking its place a moment later. It happens again, and Spencer feels what it’s like from the other end, the same feeling, but further away, echoes.

 

“And I’m Ryan,” He is saying, not shaking Brendon’s hand, but turning it over in his.

 

Brendon laughs, short and almost giddily, like something that couldn’t be contained. He does a little wave with his free hand. “Still Brendon.” He sounds like he’s happier about it than he usually is.

 

Spencer wonders how he thinks he can guess that and be right, already. But that doesn’t stop him from thinking he is.

 

Ryan lets Brendon’s hand go, and the three of them share a sharp intake of breath. Spencer is still connected to Ryan, and he feels Ryan’s finger curl tighter around his, instinct.

 

Brent coughs and they all turn to him, in time to see him rolling his eyes. Ryan snaps back into things, bossing everyone around and interrogating Brendon about musical influences and other things Ryan is too serious about for his own good, but Spencer catches Brent’s muttered, “Great, another one,” all the same.

 

*

 

It takes three hours, two after practice is through and one after Spencer has reluctantly allowed Ryan to return to what passes for his home, for the headache to hit. It’s deeper than they usually are, pain pressing against the base of his skull, forcing him horizontal on his bed. He keeps his light off and plays music softly, his hands finding Ryan’s favorites in the blue dark of the early evening.

 

He’s been down for two hours when Ryan calls, sounding like Spencer feels.

 

“Spence, something is wrong.”

 

Spencer knows. He struggles into a sitting position. “I’ll ask my mom, she can probably come get you.”

 

“I just left.” Ryan protests softly.

 

“She’ll still come get you.” Spencer tells Ryan something else he already knows.

 

“What about.” Ryan stops, like that, in what people sometimes think are the middle of his sentences, more often than not. Spencer has different ideas.

 

There’s only so much Ryan is willing to say. You have to know him to be able to fill in the gaps. That’s how he trusts.

 

It’s been them, the two of them, knowing that so long that Spencer doesn’t know what to think, now, of this sudden idea that there might have been something missing all along.

 

“We could try calling him, Brent gave me his number. Just to see.”

 

“Just to see.” Ryan echoes his agreement.

 

“Lie back down,” Spencer instructs calmly, because he’s used to this part at least. “I’ll get my mom and check in on Brendon while she’s coming to get you.”

 

“Not until I’m there.” Ryan disagrees firmly.

 

Spencer sighs at himself. “You’re right.”

 

His mom doesn’t take convincing, she just nods and pats his cheek. She’s used to the headaches too, they’ve gone to the doctor about them a few times, but they’ve never been so bad as needing more than an hours rest, or, more accurately, Ryan’s touch. He tells himself he can lecture his idiot former self later. Now is the time for other things.

 

They don’t live far enough away that a ride is usually necessary, Ryan can walk it, and usually has his bike, so they’re back before Spencer has too much time to be worried.

 

His mom deposits Ryan into the house with a warm smile at both of them before disappearing into the kitchen swinging door closing behind her.

 

Ryan is paler than normal, standing with his fingers tucked deep in his pockets. Spencer reaches in and gently pulls them out. They stand there in his front hall, hands held out between them.

 

The worst of the headache starts to ebb away, and Ryan lets himself fall against Spencer in relief as much as need. Like that, they manage to get upstairs, hands tightly joined, and end up sitting cross legged, facing each other on Spencer’s bed. They aren’t holding hands, but their knees are touching. Ryan wiggles his toes against Spencer’s.

 

He takes it for the direction it is, and calls Brendon.

 

He picks up in the middle of the first ring with a very sincere, “Nnnugh.”

 

Spencer can relate.

 

“Hey Brendon, it’s Spencer, you know,” He’s about half way through reminding Brendon who he is when Ryan shuts him up with an eyebrow.

 

“Yeah, hey Spencer. I’m not feeling so great right now, can I call you back?” Under the muted tone Brendon is using to protect his head Spencer can hear real regret in his voice.

 

“Headache?” He asks sympathetically. Freaking out about how fucking weird his life suddenly is now is also for later.

 

“Yeah. Maybe it was the practice, I hope not. It’ll kind of kill my dreams to be a rock star.”

 

Spencer appreciates that Brendon is still up for making fun of himself, likes the wry way Brendon is doing it.

 

“Me and Ryan too,” He says, before pausing to check. Ryan is drawing threads out of the frayed edge of Spencer’s jeans, but he looks up long enough to show Spencer it’s okay. “Or we did. We’re better now.”

 

“Yeah,” Spencer hears a weak chuckle. “Feel like giving me some of what you’ve got?”

 

Spencer thinks maybe he isn’t the only one who recognizes the significance of that question. He holds the phone away from his mouth and whispers to Ryan, “feel like taking another ride?”

 

Ryan blinks, startled, but not as much as he probably should be. He nods almost immediately after that.

 

Back into the phone Spencer asks, “Where do you live?”

 

It’s not that far, Brent and Spencer and Brendon all apparently go to the same school after all and, not wanting to bother his mother again, Spencer and Ryan take their bikes. They get to Brendon as fast as they can.

 

Brendon had warned them about his family, but they slip past most of them, his mother letting them in after only a few moments of suspicious inquires about who they were. They bound up the stairs, following her directions to Brendon’s room.

 

Brendon is curled up, fetal, on his bed, he has the blinds drawn.

 

“Hey,” they say together, and he opens his eyes tentatively at them.

 

“Wow, you really came.”

 

Ryan stands straighter. “We said we would.” Ryan doesn’t say things if he doesn’t mean them.

 

Brendon nods. “Okay.” Like he understands.

 

They start approaching the bed, walking in step. Spencer’s hand is curled around Ryan’s hip.

 

“We’re going to try something, okay?” Spencer asks Brendon.

 

He nods again. “I trust you.”

 

Spencer thinks, that’s good. He says it too.

 

Together again, it has to be together, they crawl onto Brendon’s bed, and let go of each other long enough to angle themselves against him, spooning him on either side. Their hands meet again over Brendon’s chest. For a long time, they lie there in silence.

 

Finally Ryan asks, “Better?”

 

Brendon is asleep, and doesn’t answer.

 

*

 

This is how it works: they don’t always have to touch, although that’s best. Proximity is good too. They can be in a room together, or better, the garage playing for hours, never touching and they’ll be fine. They can pass it on, too. Spencer can connect Ryan to Brendon, or them to him, like links in the same chain.

 

They test limits and variations, but hesitantly, and might not at all if it weren’t for Spencer’s insistence. He can handle this, whatever this is, as long as he has some idea of how it works, how far he can push it, the things he has to watch out for. Brendon is more open to talking about it, to trying to see the different ways they work. Ryan only goes along with it because Spencer asks, at first. Later it’s because Brendon is asking too.

 

They find out voice will do, in a pinch, but only if two of them are already connected. Holding tightly onto Brendon’s hand, Spencer talks Ryan though every one of his headaches while he’s cut off from them in his father’s hospital room for a hellish week that Spring. They conference every night, alone in their beds, talking until they all drift off to sleep. Spencer is usually the last to fall asleep, waiting until he hears the steady breathing from the other two that lets him know they’re out for the night. It doesn’t do much for the headaches they’ll all wake up to, but it’s a different kind of comfort, important just the same. When Brendon fights with his parents, which happens more and more the harder he bucks about wanting to spent time on the band, on Ryan and Spencer, and they ground him, he creeps out at night to see them instead. He’s not as good at climbing through Spencer’s window silently as Ryan, but he’s learning. It never seems like there should be, but there’s always room for him, pressed in between them, on Spencer’s twin bed.

 

Brent ignores it, which is good enough of him that Spencer doesn’t think to push it further. His head is filled too much with music anyway, Ryan’s words and Brendon’s voice, most of the time to think about much else.

 

And really, that goes for thinking about this connection between the three of them as well. It makes Spencer see why Ryan doesn’t care about testing it. That’s just another way, in Ryan’s head, of questioning it. And Ryan prefers to leave good things well enough alone. There are complications, things they have to work around, but really, it’s not that much different than it was before, when it was just the two of them. It’s more, now, having Brendon, but that’s all.

 

“It’s better,” Ryan says hesitantly, one afternoon when they’re alone, waiting for Brendon (and Brent) to arrive. He looks away from Spencer as he says it.

 

Spencer turns Ryan’s face back towards his own, his finger tracing the edge of Ryan’s jaw. He waits, and Ryan smiles.

 

Spencer smiles back.

 

“Better.”

 

*

And it is. Better.

 

The convenient thing about having to stay in close proximity and physical contact with Brendon is they actually really like him. For all that he seems wide eyed and unnaturally cheerful upon first meeting him, Brendon’s sense of humor is made up of sharp edges and knowing pinpricks. He shares their taste in almost everything, although his love for sugar does surpass both of theirs by impressive distances. When he’s really amused by something, his laugh is open and free, and his smiles, the real ones, are smaller, but brighter too. He dances when he’s happy, and sometimes when he’s angry, and happily informs anyone who asks that there should be more spontaneous dancing to express emotions in the world. He throws his hands up over his head and claps when something really excites him.

 

He sings Ryan’s words like he understands the meaning behind them all too well, so much that Ryan has to leave the garage sometimes to stand outside and glare at the sky. Spencer always joins him, those times, easing him back inside, his hand on Ryan’s elbow. Back inside, Brent will sigh and Brendon will duck his head and smile, not an apology, but something better. Something Ryan understands.

 

He lies so effortlessly Spencer doesn’t even realize that’s what he’s doing until Ryan looks at Brendon hard one afternoon and says,

 

“Your parents want you to quit the band, don’t they?”

 

Brendon doesn’t miss a beat, doesn’t blink, has his mouth open like he’s going to casually deny it when Spencer says, “Stop,” and then he does.

 

Ryan clutches his guitar like a life preserver. Spencer clenches his fists around his drum sticks. Brent continues to hold his bass loosely in his arms.

 

“Speak,” Ryan says eventually, not an order exactly. Permission.

 

Brendon shrugs. “They do, but I’m not going to.”

 

Ryan flinches and Spencer moves out from behind his kit, hands moving instinctively to massage Ryan’s shoulders.

 

Brendon looks at them steadily. “I’m not going to.” His voice doesn’t waver, and they believe him.

 

*

 

The longer they know Brendon, the stronger the pain gets when they’re away from him, or each other. At first, any kind of touches will do, will dull and then soothe the pain. As the weeks progress, however, it begins to take full body hugs, plastered together, for sometimes as much as ten minutes for their headaches to go away in the mornings when they’ve been away from each other all night. When they can’t all meet up in the morning, Ryan tries to bike to Spencer’s first thing, and they cling until they have to head to their respective schools. Those times, Ryan does his best to take the feel of Spencer against his skin to school with him to give to Brendon.

 

The worst though, is when they fight. And Ryan and Brendon do. Ryan is used to protecting himself by withholding forgiveness, by stripping anyone who hurts him of any significance. Spencer knows this, he’s had years watching it, trying to keep Ryan from the point of thinking he has to apply that to everyone, by default. Brendon is different. He holds his heart out too far and too long for Ryan’s comfort. It makes him scared but it comes out like it only makes him angry. And Brendon is smarter than he looks, more careful too, so he’s starting to get it, but not all the time and not always fast enough. Other times. Well. He has his own buttons and a temper too.

 

Those times, any of the times, Spencer divides himself evenly between them, just two never quite enough anymore. They’ll all live with low level migraines until Brendon lets go of his stubbornness or Ryan looks up long enough to notice either of them are hurting. It usually ends up with naps, stretched out and exhausted against each other, sleeping until their heads no longer ache.

 

*

 

It happens once that Brendon’s family goes on vacation for two weeks, camping. No way to even talk, certainly no way to touch. They huddle together, awake all night before the morning the family Urie is set to leave. A few hours before Brendon has to sneak back home Ryan starts to be just enough of an asshole to get Brendon annoyed. Spencer is half convinced the idiot plan is actually going to work until Brendon finally orders him to, “Knock it off, Ross,” and then fastens his arms around Ryan’s neck, clinging hard.

 

Ryan gives in like breathing, and Spencer’s hand moves automatically to trace circles on Brendon’s back.

 

The headaches hit after Brendon’s been on the road out of Vegas roughly six hours. Even wound together, legs tangled, Ryan and Spencer are laid out with it. The pain doesn’t go away, it builds slow and determined, but they get used to it, become able to cope with more pain. Staying close, they manage to go about their lives over the next few days but by the 7th day they’re both experiencing blurred vision and muscle and joint stiffness to go with the headaches.

 

They don’t talk about it because there’s nothing to talk about. The only time they do, Spencer is perched on the side of his tub, rubbing Ryan’s back as he ejects the nothing in his stomach into the toilet. Spencer doesn’t get nauseous with his headaches, just sees colours wrong and turns meaner than normal. That part’s hard to gauge with Ryan. Brendon mostly just turns silent and withdrawn, tucking up into himself when Ryan or Spencer aren’t there for him to curl into instead.

 

Ryan looks up, eyes ringed and red and says,

 

“Brendon.”

 

Spencer says, “Yeah.”

 

Brendon comes back to them three days early and barely holding it together. His parents are apparently under the impression he’s withdrawing from some sort of drug, and are threatening to throw him out of the house. This much Brendon tells them over the phone, while they sit in Spencer’s car outside Brendon’s house, waiting for his parents to fall asleep.

 

Finally they see the lights in the house go off and Ryan practically pawing at the car door, wanting to get out, to run to Brendon, but Spencer forces himself to lay hands on Ryan, stopping him.

 

“No.” He tells Ryan this even as the command goes against everything he himself is burning to do. “We wait.” Implicit, he’ll come. He’ll come back to us.

 

Ryan glares mutinously, but doesn’t make any more attempts to break Brendon out himself. They wait together in tense, yearning silence. Just when Ryan is starting to mutter under his breath, nothing he’s saying to Spencer, just the beginnings of lyrics, his way of coping with something like this, they see a hunched figure slinking around the back of the house. Ryan’s hand tightens on the door handle again, and Spencer has to remind him fiercely,

 

“Wait.”

 

Spencer’s skin feels like it’s vibrating, and he knows Ryan feels it too. Brendon is getting closer.

 

He crosses the street and even as his hands are coming to open the car door, Spencer feels the pain in his head lessen. Brendon scrambles into the back seat and Ryan orders, “Drive,” to Spencer, so he does.

 

He takes them around the block and frantically puts the car into park. He lets Ryan go first, mostly because Ryan is ahead of him, already halfway into the back with Brendon before the car is turned off. Ryan lands straight in Brendon’s lap and they stay like that, Brendon’s hands finding their way into Ryan’s hair, his neck full of Ryan’s face.

 

Brendon lets one of his hands free of Ryan and grasps desperately for Spencer, issuing his name like a plea. Spencer takes the hand being offered and feeling it, Ryan backs off from Brendon, not far, just enough that there’s room for Spencer to lean in between them, joining the hug.

 

They stay like that for five minutes, ten, buzzing with closeness, letting their headaches melt away.

 

Ryan moves off Brendon’s lap but retains hold of one of his hands. Spencer holds the other, and Brendon presses his foot against Spencer’s.

 

“Missed you.” He says, speaking for the first time.

 

Spencer knows he’s not just talking about the headaches. Judging by the shaky relief in his eyes, so does Ryan.

 

Spencer kicks Brendon’s foot gently.

 

“Missed you too.”

 

*

 

What happens is this: they get careless. The giddy rush of having Brendon back puts them into a dangerously celebratory mood, and for the next few days, they barely leave each other’s sides. Ryan skips classes to huddle with Spencer and Brendon at lunch and between periods. Brendon, who is grounded, (“Until I’m 21, maybe longer”) can’t come to practice, but they sneak him out every night. Sometimes they go back to Spencer’s and just sleep, other times they drive around, talking, singing, holding on.

 

On the fifth night, all the lights in Brendon’s home are on when they drive up at roughly 3 in the morning.

 

Brendon swallows hard, something frightened and resigned flashing across his face. They’re all crowded up in the front together, Ryan in the middle. He gets to Brendon where Spencer can’t, squeezing Brendon’s hand tightly. Spencer squeezes Ryan’s other hand, passing it on.

 

“Do you want us to stay?” Ryan asks softly.

 

The question shocks Spencer, the implication of it. But Brendon nods shakily.

 

“Yeah.” His face is blank like Spencer has never seen. It makes his stomach go cold.

 

Brendon doesn’t say anything else; just gets stiffly out of the car and walks silently up to his house.

 

Ryan rests his chin on Spencer’s shoulder, watching him go. They don’t say anything either.

 

They do roll down their windows though.

 

Sure enough, they can hear the yelling from the street. Spencer winces, but Ryan’s face stays inscrutable.

 

The yelling dies down and they wait. Ryan doesn’t need to tell him. Spencer will wait there until Brendon comes back, or calls them and tells them otherwise. Neither happens for a long time.

 

Nearly an hour later Brendon comes out his front door, a duffle bag slung over his shoulder. He walks with his head up, and doesn’t look back.

 

Ryan makes a sound, finally, almost too low to hear, but Spencer catches it. He squeezes Ryan’s knee.

 

“Go,” setting him loose.

 

Ryan is out of the car like a shot, crossing the street in a few long strides. He stops at the edge of Brendon’s front yard, and even from that distance, Spencer sees Brendon’s face turn back to something more like itself at the sight of Ryan. Ryan waits, arms crossed defiantly, and when Brendon reaches him, Ryan takes the bag from his shoulder.

 

When they get back to the car Brendon’s face breaks, letting out all the pain and loss.

 

“Oh Bren,” Spencer murmurs, pulling Brendon to him.

 

He gives into ragged sobs, but only for a moment, before drawing in shaky breath and removing his face from Spencer’s chest.

 

“They didn’t even say don’t come back. They just said if I couldn’t live by their Rules, I couldn’t live under their Roof.” He says this tonelessly, for them to hear, but speaking mostly to himself. He smiles sardonically.

 

“One of the new rules was No More Band.” Like that settled it.

 

Ryan’s nails bite into Spencer’s arm.

 

Spencer tries to smile. “Good thing we’re going to be famous rock stars then.”

 

Brendon makes a soft sound, almost a laugh, and drops his head to Spencer’s shoulder.

 

“Yeah, that’ll show em.”

 

*

 

Brendon camps out at Spencer’s while he looks for a job and an apartment he can afford. The job comes first. He’s hired at the Smoothie Hut three days into his search. Spencer’s parents attempt to convince Brendon he’s welcome to stay as long as he needs, but he insists on finding his own place. Ryan and Spencer try to convince him too, leading touches and any kind of argument they can think of, but he’s adamant.

 

On the afternoon they finally give up trying to change his mind, they go with Brendon to look at apartments. The places range from sketchy to receiving a flat, “No,” from Ryan.

 

After seeing four places, they arrive at a bachelor that’s almost decent, and is in an area Spencer will let Brendon walk around in alone. He checks the bathroom for shower pressure while Ryan paces the kitchen, studying it for imperfections. The shower works well, something Spencer knows Brendon needs. He’ll spend hours in there singing at the top of his lungs given the opportunity.

 

That decided, Spencer nods to Ryan, and they both look at Brendon. Spencer is surprised to note he looks rather desolate.

 

“You don’t like it?”

 

He shakes his head. “I don’t even know why we looked at this one. I can’t afford it.”

 

Ryan squares his shoulders and Spencer takes a step back, giving Ryan ground.

 

“We’re helping.” He informs Brendon matter-of-factly. “Spence has a little money saved up from birthdays and stuff,” Spencer nods firmly to let Brendon know Ryan is right. “And I have my savings.”

 

Brendon pales and says, “No Ryan.”

 

For nearly as long as they’ve known each other, and they go back, Ryan has been a saver. Or possibly a hoarder. He never spends money on himself, scrimps and saves every dollar he can get his hands on. He used to keep it in a lock box in a drawer, but it’s in an actual bank how. He calls it the Get the Hell Out of Vegas fund. Until Brendon, Spencer was the only person who knew about it.

 

Ryan stands firm, his face and shoulders set. Brendon steps closer, his hands fluttering, needing something to latch onto, wanting to touch. Ryan gives, because it’s Brendon, and captures his hands, stilling them.

 

“You need it.” Brendon protests softly, knowing what having that money, that hope of a way out, means for Ryan. He presses further, “For the band –“

 

Ryan shakes his head, almost like a spasm. “We need you for the band.”

 

Spencer moves towards them, closing the circle with a hand on each of their shoulders. He looks into Brendon’s eyes, clarifying Ryan’s statement, “We need you."

\---

After Brendon gets kicked out, Ryan amps up his internet stalking of Pete Wentz. After two weeks of Brendon coming to practice exhausted and smelling of pineapple, he posts links of their songs on Pete’s lj. They don’t tell Brendon, not wanting to give him that hope if they only have to take it away, and instead just wait, trying not to get their own hopes up.

 

When Pete messages Ryan back asking to come down and see what they can do, though, Spencer decides they sort of have to tell him. Even then Ryan’s still hedging, biting his finger tips and saying, “It might not, I mean, it doesn’t mean…”

 

Spencer has to take him in hand. “Ryan. He’s our singer. We kind of need him there.”

 

They have a band meeting about it because, hey, Brent is in the band too.

 

So, gathered together in Spencer’s garage, Ryan tells them, “I sent Pete Wentz some of our songs. He wants to come see us play.”

 

Brent laughs and says, “Sure Ryan,” rolling his eyes.

 

But Brendon is staring at Ryan with a shocked look deep enough to show them he believes.

 

Ryan opens his mouth to talk again, to explain, but in that instant Brendon flings himself at Ryan, his arms closing around him.

 

“Why didn’t you tell me, asshole?” He demands, laughing but hurt, underneath.

 

Spencer is worried for a second, but then Ryan swears, “I wanted to,” so sincerely Brendon has no option but to believe him.

 

Brendon hugs Ryan so tight that even five feet away, not touching either of them, Spencer feels it.

 

*

 

In the end, Spencer doesn’t even meet Pete until after Ryan calls him and whispers, frantic and low, like if it doesn’t get it out instantly it will stop being true, “He wants to sign us.”

 

Spencer hadn’t been able to go to the initial meet. He’d been called on for emergency big brother duties, which is something he takes very seriously, thank you very much. Brent’s excuse for not being there is less clear.

 

Regardless, Spencer had expected the guys would wait, or maybe that Pete would want to hear more than three songs played on guitar with Brendon singing vocals. Apparently not.

 

When he does meet Pete, the next day, and finds himself actually shaking Pete’s hand, it’s still true. Pete’s talking like they’re going to be the next big thing. Ryan is looking at Pete like he believes him. And what Ryan believes so does Brendon. With that kind of company, Spencer is alright to follow.

 

Pete grins at them like they’re puppies, or something equally adorable that one might consider taking home on an impulse buy and dressing in tiny versions of one’s own outfit.

 

Spencer doesn’t know. Pete just seems like that kind of guy.

 

*

 

Things get more complicated when they get signed – but that’s true of all parts of their lives. In some ways, in fact, their Thing is the least complicated of all. Recording forces them into even closer quarters, and no one looks twice at how much the three of them touch. They’ve gotten something like subtle about it by then, anyway. They find lots of ways to touch in passing, casually and as a part of other things, most of them coming without any planning or prior thought. Their bodies do that work mostly on their own, seeking each other out. Hands brushing over passed instruments, hips swaying into contact just so, elbows pressing against each other on table tops, legs hooked together underneath.

 

Only Pete notices, or at least, notices and actually says anything about it.

 

He grins at them wolfishly, which in the last few weeks Spencer has come to understand is something that Pete just does without actually meaning anything by it. He throws in a suggestive eyebrow waggle too and literally, it’s the first time Spencer has ever thought of it that way, seeing them as Pete seems to see them.

 

They’re tucked up into a couch, knees pressed together in a row, Ryan and Spencer on Brendon’s sides like book ends. They each have a hand on one of his knees, and his hands are covering theirs. Brendon flushes knowingly but Ryan doesn’t even blink.

 

Evidently Spencer is the last one aboard that particular clue bus.

 

Pete’s grin turns into a full-on leer, and Spencer’s hand tightens reflexively over Brendon’s. On his other side, Brendon turns Ryan’s hand over and links his fingers with Ryan’s. Ryan glares in what passes for a friendly way with Ryan. Pete chuckles and in response Ryan throws the eye brow pencil he was playing with in his free hand in Pete’s general direction, not actually aiming to hit. Pete makes a show of dodging anyway, before throwing his head back and laughing. He claps too. This, also, is something Spencer has learned to accept Pete just does, sometimes.

 

“You guys are too fucking cute.”

 

They roll their eyes in unison, and leave it at that.

 

*

 

The next day, though, tangled together, shaking away the last remnants of sleep, Spencer finds himself thinking about it. Thinking about them. Together and what that means. He’s never tried to put a word on it because there was never one that was going to make sense, he’d thought. Brendon, he knows, thinks they’re soul mates, but that’s Brendon. He doesn’t Believe so much anymore, but there are moments when it still shows up. Ryan calls it sentimentality in a mix of reproach and grudging appreciation. He can’t feel it, the hope and romanticism Brendon sometimes still manages to assign to the Universe, but he can’t bring himself to try and take that away from Brendon either. Ryan, for his part, probably doesn’t have a name for it either. Or if he does, he’s never shared it with Spencer. The only time they talked about it, Ryan shrugged impatiently and said,

 

“I hate being away from you. Why shouldn’t my body hate it too?”

 

Looking at Ryan now, trying to cling to sleep, his face pressed into Brendon’s back, an arm bent awkwardly around so his hand is holding Spencer’s, he can’t imagine how he didn’t see it before. He can only think that maybe it was too obvious, coming too naturally and too easy, for him to ever have to give it much thought.

 

Brendon moves suddenly, rolling from his side to his back. It should be too quick, and Ryan should get squished, but it was like Ryan’s body knew Brendon was going to move before he did, and Ryan has scrambled away to safety by the time Brendon resettles himself on his back. Brendon lifts up his head, opening his eyes to grin at them both and say, “Morning,” cheerful and bright.

 

Ryan makes a grumbly noise in response, but he cranes his neck up to gently bump foreheads with Brendon.

 

Spencer feels a chuckle, light and real, building in his chest, and he thinks, “This is love.”

 

He doesn’t say it, but it must be showing on his face because Ryan smiles, like a question. The edges of Brendon’s cheeks flush, but he meets Spencer’s eyes.

 

“Okay?” Ryan asks to go with his smile.

 

Brendon watches carefully, Spencer can see him trying to hold hope away from his face.

 

There’s nothing for him to do but nod. “Okay.”

 

They don’t really do anything about it until that afternoon, taking a break from recording to drink Capri Sun and rest their heads on each other’s shoulders. Brendon and Ryan have been arguing all morning about the vocals in Camisado, but they’re getting better at leaving those disagreements in the studio. Brendon’s been almost sick, the past few days, and outside of freaking out that Brendon’s going to lose his voice and yelling at Brendon about it, Ryan is almost good at taking care of him.

 

Currently, Ryan is running his fingers up and down the inside of Brendon’s forearm. Spencer can feel the echoes of the shivers this movement is running up Brendon’s spine through the knee he has pressed against Brendon’s thigh. Brendon moans a little, just happiness, but Spencer can feel that too. His face heats up, and he holds back a gulp. Whether they hear it or just feel it, both Ryan and Brendon look up at him, heat in their eyes.

 

He knows what they’re asking, and thinks maybe this is part of why he never let his mind go here before. He can’t imagine kissing one of them first.

 

He swallows again. “You two,” he directs them softly. Their eyes widen in sync, half a question, half out of want. He gestures to the space between them. “I want to see.”

 

Ryan pauses, considering, and then links hands with Spencer. “So you can feel it too.”

 

And when Ryan’s lips touch Brendon’s for the first time, Spencer feels the sparks off both of them.

 

They spend the next 20 minutes trading kisses, getting dizzy and almost high from it.

 

Brent catches them at it; Ryan’s hands twined with Brendon’s, his tongue in Spencer’s mouth.

 

He releases a mildly horrified, “Dudes,” and then turns right back into the practice room.

 

They look at each other guiltily for a moment before Ryan wrinkles his nose so primly Spencer and Brendon collapse against him, laughing giddily.

 

Once they pull themselves together, Ryan looks away from them towards the practice door, stealing himself.

 

“It’ll be alright,” he says, voice confident where his eyes are not.

 

Spencer bumps their shoulders and nods. “Of course it will. Brent isn’t an asshole.” Spencer can say is confidently and mean it, because it’s true.

 

“He’s our friend.” Brendon adds, because that is also true.

 

It takes awhile, but finally Ryan nods. “Yeah.” He smiles, like he knows what he’s trying to get away with. “Like I said.”

 

They’re still laughing at him when they pull him up off the bench, a hand each, and head back into the studio.

 

*

 

Brent, it transpires, is just as good at ignoring it now that they’ve thrown kissing into the mix as he was before. So good, in fact, that Spencer eventually decides he has to seek Brent out to talk it over with him. Ryan is tenser than Spencer’d like, and Brendon won’t sit still. Clearly something has to be done and Spencer is used to being the guy who has to do it. He’s proud to be that guy. For Ryan and for Brendon.

 

He corners Brent in the last days of recording, opening with a semi-awkward, “Look man.”

 

That’s enough for Brent to know what he’s on about, judging by the face he makes.

 

“I don’t care, alright,” he says uncomfortably. “Just… not in front of me, okay? It’s weird enough with Brendon, but watching you and Ryan kiss is like seeing my brothers do it, you know?”

 

Spencer blanches. He’d never thought about it that way. For all he’s loved Ryan since forever, he’s never seen him quite like that. The reason for this is fairly obvious now. Still, he’s almost heartened, learning this is the nature of Brent’s objection.

 

Brent smiles a bit at Spencer’s reaction. Spencer allows his shoulders a little shudder, and Brent’s smile widens.

 

“This is what I’m saying.”

 

Spencer pats his shoulder, short and reassuring. Nothing like the way he would touch Brendon or Ryan, his hands always lingering regardless of his intentions. He works to refocus on Brent.

 

“We’ll try to keep the pda’s to a minimum.”

 

Brent nods. “Thanks dude.”

 

Shortly after this conversation, Spencer reports back to Brendon and Ryan. They take it well enough. Ryan especially is mollified by Brent’s brother metaphor.

 

Brendon is practical, a trait he actually posses in spades, despite what first impressions usually indicate. “We would probably have needed to work on that anyway.”

 

Ryan sighs and folds himself in closer against Spencer’s chest, but neither of them disagrees.

 

Because really, it’s hardly as if Brent is the last of their worries in that regard. They’re going to be touring soon. Playing actual shows, possibly doing interviews, promotion. They might need to reconsider walking down the street, pinkies attached in a row, once they’re in the public eye.

 

Pete gives them a spirited lecture on the various merits of stage-gay on their last day in the studio. Brent fidgets uncomfortably throughout, but Ryan listens intensely, like he does whenever Pete speaks. Spencer catches Brendon nodding in places, but he has an easier time putting that down to survival, preservation, rather than idolization in Brendon’s case.

 

Pete closes by assuring them that soon they’re going to have a lot of eyes on them, and that they’ll have to decide how much they want to show. His eyes are serious, for once, as he says his, and so this is the part Spencer listens to.

 

He acknowledges, privately, that despite the value of Pete’s advice, there’s really only so much they’ll be able to control. Their bodies are habituated to touch, trained to seek each other out at all times, in the smallest or least convenient of moments. There’s no changing that, and there’s only so much stopping it either. They’ll do what they can of course, will keep their mouths to themselves, and when they can, their hands too. What they can’t stop will just have to be put down to close friendship and a desire, to use the words Pete no doubt stole from Gerard Way, to fuck with the bonds of heteronormatity. That much will work, will get them through, Spencer’s confident.

 

He’s more worried about their faces, what will show up in their eyes, on or off camera, whenever they look at each other. Because its love in their faces, no question, and sometimes Spencer thinks he must have been blind not to see it, or to try to call it by any other name. But he sees it now; there’s nothing and no one that’s going to make him give that up.

 

He knows Ryan and Brendon feel the same. That will be their foundation, and they’ll just have to take the rest of it as it comes.

 

*

 

After they’re done recording their record – their RECORD – and signing a million things and having a thousand meetings, they’re suddenly sitting together on sleeping bags in Spencer’s living room, the night before their first tour. A mother fucking tour. For their record.

 

Ryan can’t stop saying the words over and over, and they play back in Spencer’s head twice as often. Brendon is being uncharacteristically silent, protecting his voice against all comers, but he’s bouncing inside his skin, and he and Ryan can both feel it. Brent is looking overwhelmed, but up for it. Happy. The band has never meant the same thing to him as it has to Ryan, and therefore Spencer, or Brendon, now. Has never been the beacon of hope, the possibility for a life of independence and meaning. But he’s their friend, their bandmate, and those things haven’t changed. He’s stuck with them through bad times, good times, and seriously weird times, and all that means something too. So Spencer tries to keep an eye out for signs of stress and unhappiness in Brent, and reminds himself to keep an even sharper eye once they’re actually on the road.

 

On their tour.

 

They talk and plan and dream big together until even Ryan has run out of ways to use the words “record” and “tour” in a sentence. Brent starts talking like he’s going to sleep, but Ryan challenges him to a match of Apples to Apples instead, and like that, an all out video game tournament is on. Spencer leans back against Brendon’s chest, watching, and thinks it’s just as well.

Even if Brendon’s skin wasn’t buzzing so persistently Spencer has reason to be worried he’s going to fly out of it, he can’t imagine himself getting any sleep tonight.

 

Maybe he’ll be able to sleep on the bus on tour.

\---

 

Shows are terrifying, electrifying and somehow manage to be everything Spencer ever dreamed in his happiest and most wild fantasies. Better, or maybe it’s just that it means the same thing, is that it’s so clearly what Ryan dreamed, all those years, angry and afraid and desperately wanting to get somewhere he didn’t have to be. And just as good, just as necessary, is Brendon, strutting around stage, working the crowd, the band, leading them all where he wants them to go. Being up there brings Brendon’s power back, it puts emotion back into his eyes, behind his words. He’d been holding on, hanging in, but there really is nothing, Spencer decides, like living well and succeeding at everything no one believed you could to help you start to believe you have the worth others have tried to strip away. It’s simple really, and it’s everything they hoped, for themselves, and for Brendon, but there’s still something amazing, almost magical, about seeing it actually unfold before them. Brendon is wild and beautiful on stage, and Spencer channels the heat and energy rolling off Brendon in waves into his hands, his drums. He knows that on his guitar Ryan does the same.

 

Brent is less swept up in it then the three of them, but he’s doing his part on stage, even if he doesn’t practice as much as Ryan would like off of it. He’s making friends though, with some of the techs and the bands too, which Spencer supposes is good. Brent, by and large, is good at looking out for himself, being steady, and Spencer tries not to worry about him too much.

 

Frankly, he has more pressing concerns. The headaches are back, are getting worse, and it almost doesn’t seem to matter anymore, or help, even if they’re all touching. It’s not the sex, although Brendon seemed somewhat worried and guilty about this at first. They haven’t moved much beyond hands and mouths, yet, and Spencer refuses to believe that has anything to do with it. Until they left for tour it had only made things brighter, clearer. They’d been able to last longer, too, being away from each other if it was needed. They’d hated those times even without the headaches to match.

 

But now, and Spencer swears it started as soon as their bus arrived at the first venue and they were introduced to their tourmates and a few random techs and roadies who were unloading gear, the headaches come randomly and sudden, regardless of their proximity. They can dull it, huddling together, soft kisses on temples, but they never fully go away. There’s also a new prickling sensation, sometimes, at the base of Spencer’s skull that will hit like a flash when he’s just walking back to their bus, or heading into their dressing room. He discusses it with Ryan and Brendon, who admit they’ve felt it too. None of them have any answers though, and for the most part they handle it the best and only way they can. Taking comfort in each other and trusting that they, and that, will be enough.

 

This strategy works well enough until the day Ryan and Spencer are napping in the lounge peacefully when suddenly Brendon bursts in cradling his hand, looking pale and totally freaked. Ryan begins untangling himself from Spencer immediately, and they’re both on their feet heading towards him in an instant.

 

“Brendon, what,” Ryan murmurs, taking the favored hand gently away from Brendon’s chest to inspect it.

 

Ryan passes the hand to Spencer, and Spencer runs his thumb in circles on Brendon’s palm. Brendon’s still breathing raggedly, his face growing somehow even more confused.

 

“You’re not hurt.” He muses finally, shaking his head.

 

Ryan smiles and pulls Brendon’s hand up to his mouth, pressing a reassuring kiss to his palm. “No.”

 

Brendon’s eyes stay wide and scared. “I was looking for Brent on the Academy bus, but he wasn’t there so I was heading back here and out of no where I was hit with this sharp pain in my hand, like it had been sliced open. But, of course, nothing. No blood. But it was so real, so vivid. I was sure one of you…” He waves a hand, they know the rest.

 

Ryan’s eyes flit over to Spencer’s. Worried. Scared.

 

Spencer puts on a confident smile, because he’s that guy too. “Don’t worry guys,” he encourages warmly. “Whatever it is, we’ll figure it out.” He pauses for the important part. “We have each other.” They smile helplessly at this. He nods, seeing they understand. “We’ll be alright.”

 

*

 

They survive the next few shows without any more freak phantom injuries, sleep crammed into one bunk or more often on the lounge floor, find ways to touch, bumping elbows, knees, anything they can do to keep contact up at all times without drawing too much attention, trying to keep the headaches down. It only sort of works and the constant pain, along with the stress of touring, wears on them.

 

There are other concerns as well. The further they get from Vegas, the more withdrawn and unenthused Brent becomes. He starts missing practices and band meetings, and they try to let it go, give him some freedom, but it only gets worse. He’s late for sound checks and once, misses one entirely. He disappears from the bus most days between shows, and has apparently stopped hanging out with the TAI guys as well, because they never know where he is either. Brendon is confused and starting to be angry, the more it happens. It takes Ryan even less time to be frustrated and upset. Brendon takes the band seriously, more seriously than most people would give him credit for even having the ability to be, but even his dedication is nothing compared to Ryan’s. Ryan is the visionary, their captain offstage as much as Brendon is their leader on it. Spencer knows Ryan can’t imagine anyone taking the band as lightly as Brent seems to. And it’s that, a lack of dedication, of commitment to the vision, that seems to rankle Ryan most of all. Spencer’s less sympathetic of this behavior when it’s causing Ryan to yell at Brendon for putting the wrong emphasis on one word in a line of lyrics, or ruling practices like a tiny king, but he happens to agree with Ryan in this case. This is their business. It’s serious and it’s real, and Brent seems not only to be forgetting that, but laughing in the face of it too.

 

Soon they start to fight about it amongst themselves, as well as with Brent. Between worry about where Brent is going to be and if he’s going to play well enough having yet again skipped practice, the growing buzz around them which is leading slowly but surely to more media attention and scrutiny, living their lives in a state of constant low level pain and missing sleep and routine while on the road, patience is dangerous low on the Panic bus and tensions are high. Ryan is awkward and short in interviews and Brendon is too bubby and exaggerated in compensation. The stage show starts to suffer until finally they blow up at each other after a particularly lack luster performance. Brent simply leaves the dressing room, shaking his head and acting like it’s got nothing to do with him. Watching him go, something cold and angry settles in Spencer’s chest. Underneath the anger, he knows what he’s really feeling is fear.

 

It’s in Ryan’s eyes too, but he spits malice instead, harping on Brendon’s missed cues and Spencer’s lagging drums. Brendon shouts in response to Ryan’s coldly delivered criticisms, and Spencer is too tired and upset at everything, all of them, himself included, to do anything but stalk angrily out the door after Brent.

 

He doesn’t catch up with him, but he heads back to the bus anyway, finding himself alone for the first time in so long he can’t even remember when. It’s a wonderful feeling, peaceful and free, for about ten minutes, before he starts worrying about everything all over again. In another 10, his head is aching so badly he has to lie down. Ryan and Brendon storm into the bus, still arguing, and the pain doesn’t subside. They each go into their individual bunks, not speaking to Spencer, and close their curtains as pointedly as they can.

 

They spend the night separately, and don’t speak or touch the next morning while they’re making their coffee. Brent isn’t even on the bus, but there’s a message on Spencer’s sidekick from Brent telling him he’ll see them at 5 for sound check. Ryan rolls his eyes when Spencer shows it to him, and that’s the extent of their interaction for the rest of the morning. Brendon sulks in the lounge, headphone buds in his ears, refusing to look at them. Ryan gets in on being a stubborn asshole, and retreats back to his bunk, curtain closed, maybe writing, maybe just glaring at his hands.

 

Spencer checks his e-mails and gets half way through writing a long homesick e-mail to his sisters before he realizes what he’s actually written is an eight inch rant completely devoid of punctuation about how much his head hurts and his wrists ache. He deletes the draft and goes back to lying down in his bunk.

 

Brent is late for sound check, and Brendon takes a turn yelling at him instead of at Spencer and Ryan. For one horrible minute during the middle of it, Spencer is almost convinced Brent is going to turn around and leave. He stays, but it’s a near thing.

 

The show is even worse than the last, and they don’t even speak to each other afterwards, just leave the dressing room in silent, single file and head into their bunks the same way.

 

Over the next few days, Spencer is filled with a growing certainly and panic that his life, as he knows and values it, is falling apart around him. He, Ryan and Brendon don’t touch, they barely talk. They don’t have another show until the day after next, and Brent is like a phantom, occasionally emerging from the shadows, but disappearing again, just as suddenly. They three live with increasingly blinding migraines, back pain and joint stiffness. But something stubborn and reckless has taken hold of them, and despite the pain, they refuse to give in to the comfort of each other.

 

Spencer’s whole body is bereft, but his mind, for all the pain he’s in, is too stuck, too hopeless and lost to reach out and take the only comfort he’s ever needed.

 

The pain forces them into the same rooms even if it can’t yet push them the rest of the way, back into each other’s arms. They’re sitting in their dressing room the evening before their next show, hunched up at opposite ends of the room waiting for Brent to show up, nursing headaches, faces tucked into knees. Not talking, eyes closed.

 

Suddenly the door is opening, and they all look up expecting Brent, but instead it’s a scruffy tech they sort of recognize as belonging to the Academy bus, holding Brent’s bass out before him. He smiles at them and Spencer feels the others suck in the same shocked breath as he himself does. His headache is gone.

 

“Hey, I think Brent left this on our bus last night, or well, beside it anyway.” He pats it consolingly. “I brought it inside.”

 

Spencer tries to shake the confusion out of his head, to adjust to the sudden lightness, but Ryan and Brendon just stay still, blinking at the tech in increasing alarm.

 

His smile changes mood, growing from simple friendliness into something more gentle. “You guys alright?”

 

Spencer shakes his head again, and this time Ryan and Brendon join in.

 

The guy takes a step towards them and Spencer exhales shakily. His skin is starting to hum. Ryan and Brendon look at him frantically. He knows they can feel it too.

 

“I’m Jon, by the way. Jon Walker,” strange and apparently magical Jon Walker informs them, waving slightly.

 

Spencer swears he can feel the air passing through his fingers as if Jon’s hand was his own.

 

Giving manners a total pass, the three of them continue to stare at him in a mix of horror and awe.

 

Jon chuckles. “They told me you guys were a little strange.” He winks. “I like it.”

 

Spencer has never in his entire life not found a wink creepy and a little annoying. Somehow, despite this history, when Jon does it, he finds it bizarrely endearing.

 

He tries to glare but finds himself incapable of it for what is also quite possibly the first time in his life. Jon shakes his head warmly at Spencer and then turns his attention on Ryan.

 

“I’m Jon,” he repeats, seemingly for Ryan’s ears only.

 

Ryan makes a startled noise, and suddenly Brendon is on his feet, heading Ryan’s way. Spencer can’t move yet, but he manages to smile approvingly. Ryan buries his head in Brendon’s shoulder and Spencer takes a soothing breath. His headache has stayed blessedly gone since Jon entered the room, but he can still feel the comfort coming off Brendon and Ryan like waves.

 

Seemingly oblivious to the full extent of their weirdness, Jon continues to stand in the middle of their dressing room, smiling at them benignly.

 

“We’re Panic at the Disco,” Spencer finds himself saying suddenly, the calm coming from Ryan and Brendon helping him find his voice. “Well, we’re missing our bass player currently, Brent, you know him?”

 

Jon nods.

 

“Right, well, I’m Spencer, and that’s Ryan and Brendon,” He waves at them for emphasis.

 

“And I’m Jon.” Jon says for the third time, but it sounds new all over again, different from the other times. Like he’s finishing something Spencer didn’t know he had started.

 

Spencer is lost for words, but Brendon, being Brendon, finally finds them, “Jon Walker, I think you might just be my Personal Jesus.”

 

*

Spencer cannot for the life of him figure out how Brendon and Jon get from there to singing a passionate rendition of Street Rat at the top of their lungs, but that’s what happens.

 

Spencer is still trying to figure it out, as well as what to do about the deepening frown on Ryan’s face, when Brent finally shows up. His entrance effectively refocuses Ryan’s glare, and even distracts Brendon’s attentions away from Jon and the lure of catchy Disney tunes. With nothing more than a small bow to Brendon and smiles for Ryan and Spencer, Jon exits with dressing room with casual ease.

 

Spencer asks Brent where he was, because that’s important. The world may have just turned on its head, but they still have a show to play in a couple hours. Brent shrugs and mumbles something about being on the phone with his girlfriend. Spencer considers whether or not he should be more sympathetic than he currently feels, tries to imagine himself away from Ryan and Brendon this long. It makes his head hurt, just thinking about it.

 

Ryan is characteristically single minded, in contrast, and focuses on lecturing Brent about taking things more seriously. Brent rolls his eyes and notes,

 

“It’s a couple fucking songs Ryan; it’s not life and death.”

 

Ryan’s face goes carefully blank. Brendon begins edging closer to him immediately, his arm slipping securely around Ryan’s waist. Spencer wills his heart to unclench, tries to assume Brent didn’t mean it the way it came out, that he didn’t choose his words carefully to cut at Ryan. Because these are Ryan’s songs; and in a very real way they’re Ryan’s life too. All the parts he needed to write about so they wouldn’t keep eating at his insides. His hopes and fears and how he sees the world. Spencer has to believe Brent knows that too, and that he wouldn’t be cruel enough to use that against Ryan. As he once said, Brent is not actually an asshole.

 

Potentially proving this, Brent shakes his head and mutters a vaguely apologetic string of words in Ryan’s general direction. That, combined with the continued placement of Brendon’s arm around him, is enough to bring an actual facial expression back to Ryan, and he shrugs.

 

“Whatever, lets go over the set list one more time and then head out.”

 

*

 

The next day they’re in a new city, maybe even a new state. Spencer has trouble keeping track anymore. When they get off the bus to get the lay of the land, Jon is hovering outside, holding a basket that smells like blueberries.

 

Ryan shifts back, shielding himself behind Spencer, but Brendon whoops and flies to Jon, making grabby hands and talking a mile a minute, trying to guess the basket’s contents.

 

Jon bats his hands away gently and says, “I made you muffins, you can at least admire my nice arrangement before you eat them.”

 

Brendon obeys with an adoring grin on his face, making actual cooing noises over what Spencer assumes is an artistically arranged basket full of blueberry muffins.

 

He really had thought, yesterday, that his life couldn’t get any fucking weirder.

 

Ryan’s closed expression tells Spencer he’s not alone on this one.

 

They hadn’t had time or energy to talk after the show. But they had, for the first time in days, collapsed together in Ryan’s bunk instead of going their separate ways. Spencer hasn’t felt so rested in weeks. And he does fucking love blueberry muffins.

 

“Where did you find a place to make muffins?” Ryan suddenly demands, doing a very poor job of sounding grateful.

 

Spencer presses his thumb against the pulse on Ryan’s wrist.

 

Jon smiles though, and shrugs. “I have many talents.”

 

Brendon nods enthusiastically through a large mouth full of muffin. He makes appreciative noises, and then goes back to eating.

 

Jon walks over to them, slow enough that they have the option of backing away and it not seeming like a big deal. Spencer suspects he would appreciate this more if Ryan wasn’t already backing up beside him.

 

“They’re pretty good, I’ve already had two.” Jon tells them.

 

Spencer laughs before he can stop himself. “You ate our muffins?”

 

Jon’s smile turns knowing. “I had my share of our muffins, and they were delicious.”

 

Ryan looks like his brain is furiously trying to figure out what muffins are a metaphor for, but Spencer reaches into the basket and takes one, just for something to do.

 

He pulls off a bite with his fingers, notes that the muffin is still warm, and then puts it in his mouth.

 

He actually groans a little.

 

Ryan looks at Spencer, slightly scandalized, while Jon laughs triumphantly.

 

Spencer has to feed it to him, but in the end, Ryan eats his share of the muffins too.

 

*

 

After the muffin incident, they don’t see Jon for two days. They’re in between shows again, the tour is winding down. The headaches come back after the first day, but they stay low and manageable as long as Ryan, Brendon and Spencer hold on to each other. Spencer has absolutely no problem doing that.

 

The next time they see Jon, (Ryan and Spencer that is) he’s doing jumping jacks with Brendon in the parking lot. He and Ryan stare out the window at them, trying to make sense of their lives.

 

It doesn’t really work.

 

Spencer is about to say something when Ryan makes a small, distressed noise and lays his head on Spencer’s shoulder.

 

“It’s alright, Ry,” Spencer says automatically.

 

Ryan sighs dramatically. Spencer can tell the difference between times he’s doing that intentionally, and the times it’s simply sincere. This, unfortunately, was the latter.

 

“He makes Brendon so happy.” He says quietly, after a time.

 

Spencer pulls Ryan closer, kisses his hair. “We make Brendon happy.”

 

Even with his face pressed into Spencer’s neck, Spencer can hear it when Ryan says, “What if he makes Brendon happier?”

*

Jon doesn’t ask any questions because he seems to already know the answers. He lets Brendon attack him at whim, his arms snaking around Jon’s neck, leaping at him from behind at every opportunity. All this, as well as Brendon’s near constant and largely nonsensical excited babbling, Jon manages to take in casual stride. He continues to be untroubled by the amount of confused, suspicious staring Ryan and Spencer do in his general direction. He smiles warmly in response to Spencer’s attempted glares and keeps a respectful distance from Ryan, never entering his space, never pressing him.

 

Spencer can’t quite parse it, but everything feels different and frightening with Jon. He gets the edges of it, understands some of why he might be feeling this way, but knows much of the reluctance he’s filled up with comes from Ryan. His tense shoulders and watchful, worried eyes.

 

It’s not even Jon. It’s only been two weeks, spent in casual hanging out between shows and one memorable night playing strip poker on the Academy bus, but already Spencer has learned it’s pretty damn hard to dislike Jon Walker. He is, in fact, sort of effortlessly loveable. He also appears to be magic, of some kind, which certainly could be considered a plus. The problem, really, is that he’s too likeable. People he likes instantly make Ryan uncomfortable, suspicious. Spencer’s been friends with him long enough that this suspicion has rubbed off.

 

But the real problem for Ryan (and Spencer can admit for him too) is how Brendon looks at Jon. Exactly like Jon is magic, and perfect, and just maybe, the answer to his prayers.

 

When Jon is around them, and he still doesn’t even have to be touching them – they don’t even have to be touching each other – their headaches stay gone. When he’s away from them, depending on the distance, they stay gone too. They come back, get worse, if they’re back on the road and the panic bus lags behind the convoy, or if Jon leaves the venue on equipment runs. But when he is there, when he is, they don’t need to touch.

 

It’s been a complication, a source of pain and anxiety and even loss. But never once has Spencer wished the connection, and the need to sustain it, away. He’s never thought about himself as trapped, locked into something he doesn’t want or would be happier without. It’s just them, it’s who they are. Or at least it was. But now, it would seem, their bond is changing and Spencer can admit Ryan isn’t the only one losing sleep over it. Jon probably can’t help it, can’t control whatever is happening anymore than any of them can, but it’s still happening, and it seems to be happening because of him. And for that, the way his presence has suddenly and maybe irrevocably changed what they are, Spencer can’t not be suspicious, and under that, terribly afraid.

 

He’s sure of Ryan, and he has to believe Ryan is sure of him. They’ve been together too long, are far too tangled up in each other, too cripplingly codependent, too, he hopes, in love, to ever let each other go. And he wants – he wants so badly to be sure of Brendon. Brendon, who came into their lives like a song, who makes Ryan smile with a flick of his fingers, who helps shoulder Spencer’s stresses almost without him realizing Brendon is doing it. He’s their singer, their voice. He’s their frontman, stepping out ahead of them to bring them the world and, when necessary, protect them from it. And he loves them, Spencer knows he does. He’s just having trouble, lately, being sure Brendon loves them as much as they love him.

 

Spencer tries to remind himself this is viciously unfair. Brendon has done nothing to cause them to lose faith in him, has given no indication his feelings for them have changed, lessened. For all he sings Jon’s praises at nearly all times, in and out of Jon’s company, it’s them he comes home to, snuggling in happily between them every night. It’s them he awakens with kisses, murmured endearments. It’s still Spencer with whom he pleads with huge eyes for another red bull, still Ryan he bats his eye lashes at absurdly whenever he catches Ryan in a frown.

 

And they like Jon. Or they should. They quite obviously should. He’s funny and reliable and extremely chilled out. Spencer appreciates those qualities, even if he doesn’t himself possess them. He’s generous, a suspiciously good bass player, and above all, he’s kind. He doesn’t take bad moods out on other people, doesn’t gossip, tell shitty stories about other bands or try to make anyone do something they’ve indicated they don’t want to do. He’s just warm and friendly, seemingly with everyone he meets. And for all that he’s generally ridiculously laid back he’s fiercely protective of his friends. Spencer watches Jon take care of Tom, defend him to all comers, tease and deflect, whenever and whatever he needs, over and over as they’re getting to know him. Jon watches out for the other techs too, pulls his weight and works with a smile on his face.

 

He drinks but not excessively, not in a way that frightens or angers Ryan. He doesn’t change when he’s drinking and that’s probably the most important bit.

 

He walks into rooms and melts their headaches away. He makes Brendon laugh, and bounce, and sing.

 

He never looks at them like they’re crazy, or posers, or stupid children.

 

He has what is clearly ridiculous and impractical taste in shoes, but even Spencer finds that endearing.

 

He’s frustratingly and suspiciously perfect, but not just perfect in a general way, because Spencer can see how some people might not actually instantly adore Jon Walker, if he squints. It’s possible not everyone is as easily charmed by a 20 something year old who has an impressive collection of Disney love songs on his ipod. Or who refuses to wear socks, no matter the weather. But he does certainly seem perfect for them.

 

Now if he and Ryan could just stop being unspeakably terrified he’s actually only perfect for Brendon, they might actually be able to figure some of this shit out.

\---

 

Spencer totally plans on having a mature adult conversation with Brendon (and Ryan, and maybe even Jon) about this any day now. He does. But so much is happening all the time around him, around them, he can barely keep his head on straight. They’re still on tour, is the thing. Still playing to increasingly more enthusiastic and densely populated crowds. Still on the road, far from home, answering questions from strangers on a semi regular basis, trying to put forward a marketable and still authentic message. Brent is still showing a lack of interest in the band, and in them. Ryan and Brendon still fight about the stage show, and chord progressions, and what covers to try. Spencer still misses his sisters, and his parents, and his dogs. None of that, none of the business of life, has gone away. Instead a new and bizarre wrench has been thrown in, and Spencer doesn’t know what to do.

He just needs some time to figure himself out, to figure Ryan out, and then they can all talk about this like civilized people. Just a little time. That’s all he needs.

What he gets instead is Brent, totally AWOL an hour before their next show. They’d been looking for him frantically all afternoon, with absolutely no luck. Spencer can feel Ryan starting to panic under his skin, and not surprisingly, it doesn’t get better when Brendon suddenly nominates Jon to fill in.

“It’ll be awesome! He knows the songs – he’s been coming to our sets, and we were playing a couple of them together the other night, so he can totally play them! He’ll say yes, I promise.” He’s big eyed and hopeful, and Spencer knows Brendon thinks he’s helping, wants to be helping, even if he’s actually doing sort of the opposite

“I don’t know Bren.” Ryan says hesitantly, looking to Spencer for a better way to say it.

Spencer wants to give him one, but practical realities are screaming in his face. “Maybe we should ask him,” He says carefully. Ryan flinches. “We don’t have anyone else, Ry,” He reminds him gently.

Brendon claps his hands together. “I’ll call him right now!”

 

Jon is there in less than 10 minutes, looking so hopeful and proud Spencer’s heart pretty much melts.

 

“This is an honor you guys,” Jon says, hopelessly sincere.

 

It makes Ryan blink thoughtfully though, and Spencer feels himself starting to think maybe this isn’t going to be the disaster he was bracing himself for.

 

“We really appreciate you doing this.” Ryan says, and Spencer is proud to hear he actually means it.

 

Jon beams. “I promise I won’t let you down.”

 

*

 

Jon is already acquainted with Brent’s bass, and he submits himself to the whims of costume and make-up girls with a cheerful wink to Ryan. Spencer keeps his fingers laced with Ryan’s whenever he can as they’re getting ready. Ryan’s hands are cold in his, so he rubs at Ryan’s knuckles, trying to warm them up.

 

Brendon appears oblivious to this, but Spencer knows better. He’s talking too loud, moving too much. Jon keeps him distracted, entertained, but that’s pretty much the problem, as far as Ryan’s concerned, so it doesn’t exactly improve matters.

 

Spencer starts to breathe easier, finally, when Brendon breaks away from Jon to pull Ryan’s stiff body against his. Spencer is close enough to hear Brendon whisper, “We’re going to be beautiful tonight,” into Ryan’s ear, and to feel Ryan’s heart begin to slow in his chest. Brendon pulls back and pretends to muss Ryan’s carefully arranged hair. Ryan bats his hand away and Brendon smiles smugly.

 

“You love me.” He taunts confidently in response to Ryan’s glare.

 

Ryan’s eyes flutter and he bites the tip of his pinkie. Around it he mumbles, “I do.”

 

Brendon’s face betrays seriousness for a moment before his grin is back.

 

“It’s because I’m so awesome!” He thrills, doing a half pirouette away from Ryan and ending up colliding with Jon.

 

Jon holds Brendon securely, steadying him.

 

“Watch where you’re going princess,” somehow the way Jon says this, it comes out sounding fond, not mocking.

 

Brendon swoons dramatically, and even Ryan laughs.

 

*

 

Spencer likes being the drummer for many reasons, but secretly his favorite is that he gets to hide safely behind his kit and a row of his guys on stage every night.

 

He expects it to feel different with Jon up there, and it does. But it’s not… bad, the way he expected. It’s… it’s like he can feel Jon, feel the music coming from Jon, louder and cleaner than he ever can with Brent. It’s like… well, what it is actually exactly like is how it feels with Ryan and Brendon, playing together in practice or on stage. He can anticipate their movements, where their hands are going to go, where their voices will falter, where they will hit the right notes. He keeps the beat to their songs, but it’s like each of them has one, playing together, melding into something whole and real.

 

In a way he never has when it’s them and Brent, up on stage with Ryan, Brendon and Jon, Spencer feels complete.

 

*

 

They collapse into a tangled group hug almost immediately after they leave the stage. Brendon crashes straight into Ryan first, hugging him tight and messy. Ryan gives himself up to it, his hand poking out, wiggling his fingers at Spencer for him to join in. Spencer does, immediately and like he’s coming home. He finds himself grabbing onto Jon as he moves, and Jon lets himself be dragged.

 

Spencer can’t remember ever touching Jon before but he’s too high, too overwhelmed by sensation already to pause at the way Jon feels like home too, feels like he was made for Spencer’s touch, just like Ryan and Brendon do. When it’s the four of them together, all wrapped up in each other, Spencer’s skin hums. Spencer finds Ryan’s eyes and there’s a wild, joyous smile on Ryan’s face.

 

Spencer hasn’t seen hope that clear and bright on Ryan’s face since the day Pete told them they were really getting a record deal. Probably not even then.

 

He closes his eyes and presses his face against Ryan’s, whispering into his cheek, “It’s gonna be alright.”

 

Ryan hums his agreement and holds on tighter.

 

*

 

The morning after the show, Spencer is sitting beside the bus window and overhears Jon say to Tom as they walk by, “They’re nicer than they look,” quiet and firm.

 

They keep walking, but possibly Spencer cranes his neck out the window, watching them go.

 

Jon turns back around suddenly, and catches him at it. He waves cheerfully and blows Spencer a friendly kiss before catching up with Tom.

 

Spencer ducks his head back inside and blushes accidentally. Ryan, who has just taken off his headphones, pokes him in the stomach.

 

“What?”

 

“Ouch motherfucker,” Spencer says absently, still smiling.

 

“What.” Ryan repeats, preparing a glare.

 

Spencer flicks his wrist, stalling. “Nothing, just… Jon just walked by.”

 

Ryan’s laugh lacks legitimacy, because his cheeks are turning pink. Spencer chooses to point while he laughs.

 

Ryan makes a wrinkly pouty face. “Shut up.”

 

Spencer pulls him in for a kiss instead.

 

*

 

So in the end, they don’t really talk about it. The only official mention of it occurs after Brendon finds Ryan and Spencer sitting together by the window, giggling and making out in between calling each other a loser.

 

“What’s all this about?” He demands, sounding a little put out no one invited him to a hang out that involved kissing.

 

Spencer hooks an arm around Brendon’s waist and pulls him close, giving him a sloppy hello kiss to soften the blow.

 

Ryan tugs at Spencer’s sleeve impatiently when the kiss deepens, and Spencer releases Brendon’s mouth so Ryan can have a turn.

 

Once they’re all finished getting reacquainted, Brendon sighs happily and snuggles against Spencer’s chest. He’s playing with one of Ryan’s hands idly.

 

He leans up, pressing a kiss against the underside of Spencer’s jaw and asks, “So are we allowed to talk about how we’re all in love with Jon Walker now?”

 

Ryan sputters, but it ends up turning into a laugh. Brendon squeezes Ryan’s fingers, and Spencer answers, “Looks that way.”

 

*

 

The plan is to find Jon and set Brendon on him until he’s worn out from the dance offs and cuddle attacks that will no doubt ensue and for Ryan and Spencer to just sort of come out of nowhere and hug Jon from behind until he gets the general idea.

 

It’s Brendon’s plan, so it’s predictably ridiculous, and is actually drawn up on a sheet of paper he appears to have stolen from Ryan’s journal, judging by the mildly injured, “hey,” Ryan issues when Brendon produces it. There are arrows and hearts zigzagging around little stick figures that are identifiable by way of hair length and, in the case of the little Brendon stick figure, red glasses carefully drawn on the face. Additionally, the Jon figure has little wavy lines labeled “awesome” coming off him.

 

There are arrows with hearts instead of points on the ends of them coming from each of their little stick figure representatives all pointing towards the Jon figure and a few panels outlining Brendon’s plan of attack.

 

Spencer squints and makes out the words, “And then they lived happily ever after,” and a few more hearts.

 

Ryan consults the plan before looking at Brendon seriously. “I think we can do better.”

 

Brendon takes a moment to look wounded, before shaking his head. “Trust me. Stealth attack hugging is totally the way to Jon Walker’s heart.”

 

Spencer and Ryan share a look over Brendon’s head. As if by silent agreement, they sigh in unison.

 

Ryan points at a portion of the drawing. “Is that where we jump out from behind the Academy bus and hug him from behind?”

 

Brendon nods enthusiastically and carries on lecturing them on the finer points of his plan. He has them halfway convinced he’s actually on to something, there are kind of a convincingly large number of hearts in the final corner, which Brendon keeps tapping confidently, when there’s a knock on door of their bus.

 

Confused looks are exchanged. Brent’s been back, yelled at, and gone again already this morning, and maybe he knows they’re still mad enough at him to knock, but really. Spencer can’t see him having that much tact, considering his responses to their questions about where the fuck he was were sullen and vague.

 

Even so, Brent is pretty much who Spencer’s expecting when he walks over and opens the door.

 

Jon, holding a fist full of dandelions and grinning hopefully, is a considerably more welcome, albeit wholly startling, sight.

 

He stares at Jon in a mix of shock and confusion, and Jon separates a portion of the flowers away and holds them out towards Spencer saying, “These are for you, Spencer Smith.”

 

Spencer’s hand reaches out to take them automatically, and his fingers brush Jon’s when they close around the flowers.

 

Jon smiles, pleased, and asks, “Can I come in?”

 

Spencer nods dumbly, back up for Jon to climb inside the bus.

 

Brendon grins automatic and bright when he sees its Jon and what he’s brought them, but he remains steadfastly at Ryan’s side. Spencer watches closely as Ryan leans into Brendon’s touch for a moment before separating himself and walking towards Jon.

 

Ryan takes the remaining flowers slowly, deliberately, out of Jon’s outstretched hand, divides them evenly, and passes half to Brendon.

 

Brendon instantly begins twirling one of the dandelions around between his thumb and forefinger, beaming at Ryan and Jon. Spencer moves closer, a reflex, and Brendon bumps their hips together reassuringly.

 

Ryan raises a careful eye brow, “No muffins this time?”

 

Jon shakes his head. “Nope. But you can put these in a salad if you’re hungry.”

 

Spencer sees Ryan’s face twitch, like he’s fighting a smile, and he sees the exact minute Ryan gives up the fight just as clearly.

 

Ryan looks at the flowers in his hand for a moment before separating one away and tucking it behind his ear.

 

Jon smiles approvingly and pats him on the shoulder, “Looks good on you.”

 

Ryan’s smile is serious, but real. “I think it might just be the look for me.”

 

*

 

That’s basically it for discussions.

 

After Ryan gave Jon the seal approval, and they all understood that was exactly what he was doing, it’s just decided. Settled.

 

Having finally conquered or dismissed their fears that Jon spells the end of them, or poses a threat to what they have with Brendon, Ryan and Spencer fall head first and helpless in love with him. It’s pointed out by a prim and smug Brendon, sitting happily on Jon’s lap, that they were clearly in love with him before too but were possibly too stupid and paranoid to admit it.

 

They don’t really bother denying it.

 

Jon stills brings them presents, most mornings. Word puzzles and new songs to load into Ryan’s ipod, magazines and books for Spencer, strange candy and sheet music for Brendon. Flowers plucked from the roadside, scones he somehow finds the space and time to make, or sometimes just back rubs, his hands soothing aches they didn’t even know they had.

 

He wraps them up, finds arms and shoulders and laps for all of them, and they fit together, the four of them, tighter and better than they ever seemed to, even as good as it was, when it was only they three.

 

He falls easily, so easily, into their rhythm of little touches, finding ways to lay hands on all of them whenever they’re together. Light squeezes on Ryan’s elbow, a hand curving briefly against Spencer’s hip, lips pressed to Brendon’s ear.

 

He talks Ryan through his frustrations, through the anger that comes before sense and covers for fear. He brings Brendon down from the hyper activity that spells his anxiety, his restlessness. He takes some of the weight from Spencer’s shoulders; brings smiles to Spencer’s face when he’s so deep into worrying about the band and his guys that he can’t even see straight, he listens to the things Spencer says with his words and his touches.

 

He takes care of them, helps them be better at taking care of each other.

 

Other things feel better too.

 

Brent starts showing up for practices again, starts talking to them between shows, and they’re all so happy, buzzing with it, that they don’t have it in them to stay angry. They lecture him about taking things more seriously, and he nods like he gets it. Like he means it. Spencer wants to believe that, anyway.

 

They play shows, and it’s not the same as having him up there with them, but Jon watches from backstage now, and he’s there to receive them into his arms when they come off stage.

 

 

*

 

The headaches don’t go away. Just as before, when Jon is away from them, when they are away from each other, they come persistent and painful. Distance seems to be more of a problem, now that they’re four. But when they’re together, all of them, they practically set off sparks it feels so good, their skin humming with it.

 

Jon takes all of this in complete stride, never once freaking out or really making any mention of it.

 

Spencer asks him about it once, a few days after Jon comes back to them with his first headache, pained and immediately seeking comfort. Like his body already knows where to go. Spencer has to assume that it simply does. He’s far beyond questioning such things now.

 

He waits until he has Jon lying down, Jon’s head in his lap, Spencer’s fingers carding through Jon’s hair, to ask,

 

“Did you know?”

 

Jon shakes his head a little, Spencer can feel the movement.

 

“All I knew was that I loved each of you as soon as I met you.” He shrugs. “I didn’t really think about much else.”

 

Spencer’s hand stills in Jon’s hair. “We don’t know… we don’t know what it is, or why it happens to us. It just does. But it’s… it’s better when you’re here.”

 

From the other side of the lounge, Ryan looks up from Brendon’s lap to say,

 

“Better.”

 

*

 

Just when Spencer is starting to relax, to release the tense breath he feels like he’s been holding in almost since they got on tour, Brent misses another show. Ryan and Brendon are understandably livid, but Jon is there with them when it happens, and having him fill in isn’t even a question this time. It goes well; they play with the same sense of synergy, rhythm. Brendon makes a show of Jon being there with them, puts Jon on adoring display. Jon plays it up, following Brendon’s cues as if they planned it. Spencer wouldn’t actually put it past Brendon, but really, Jon just fits with them like that, easy and right.

 

Brent shows up at the bus a few hours after the show. With a look, Spencer asks Jon to take care of Ryan and Brendon while he talks to Brent alone, and Jon guides them out of the bus with a hand on each of their shoulders.

 

Spencer doesn’t have any anger left. Alone with Brent he just sighs with sadness and confusion.

 

Brent somehow manages to look guilty and defiant at the same time.

 

“Did you forget?” Spencer asks with a weary laugh.

 

Brent shrugs. “I just figured it didn’t really matter whether I showed up or not.”

 

Spencer sputters. “Brent this is out job – it’s our life. It matters.”

 

Brent shakes his head. “It’s your life, maybe. I mean what the fuck Spencer? It’s not like you guys even want me in the band anymore anyway.”

 

Spencer blanches. The thought has genuinely never occurred to him. But Brent looks pretty certain. Brent keeps going, “I’m not part of your spooky gay harem so what the fuck do you care what I do?”

 

Spencer blinks back confusion, hurt. “You’re in the band. You’re our friend.”

 

Brent clucks disdainfully. “You really think Ryan and Brendon still think of me as a friend?”

 

Spencer decides, for once, not to speak for them. Instead he says firmly, “I know I still do.”

 

Brent actually almost smiles at this. “I’m tired Spence. I miss my family and my friends back home, my girlfriend. This… this isn’t for me. I thought it would be, I wanted it to be, but its’ just not.”

 

Spencer feels dull ringing in his ears. “Are you… quitting?”

 

Brent shrugs. “If we go talk to Ryan and Brendon right now, you think they’ll even give me that option?”

 

Spencer thinks about Ryan’s face, closed and angry, and Brendon’s, wide open and betrayed. He thinks about Jon, sitting with them now. Waiting. Thinks about Jon playing with them on stage and how that feels.

 

He hangs his head.

 

“Jesus.”

 

Brent’s face winces at the confirmation, but he sighs, resigned.

 

“That’s what I thought.”

 

“But… then why did you. If you’d have just come to the show…” Spencer trails off, unable to put his thoughts into acceptable words.

 

Brent smiles bitterly. “You think I don’t see the way you guys are with him? The way you follow each around like fucking love addled ducklings or something? Nah man. I’ve been out for awhile, just no one was willing to fucking tell me so. At least this way, I don’t know, fuck it, I go out on my own terms, or by my own actions, you know?”

 

Spencer kind of can’t believe he’s this much of an asshole.

 

“I’m sorry man.”

 

Brent has the decency to shrug. “Fuck it. He’s a better bass player than me anyway. You guys are lucky to have him.”

 

Spencer wishes there was something he could do, or say, to change this all somehow, but the bottom line is that Brent is right. They really, really are.

 

So fucking lucky.

 

All he say is, “I’m sorry,” again and watch Brent shrug and start gathering up his stuff.

 

“You don’t have to leave NOW,” Spencer protests, his heart freaking out in his chest.

 

“Now is better for me.” Brent says, and leaves it at that.

 

Spencer watches him, mute and lost, as he slings a pre-packed duffle over his shoulder, turning back to give Spencer a mock salute.

 

“You don’t even want to say good bye to Ryan and Brendon?” Spencer finally demands just before Brent steps off the bus.

 

Brent shakes his head. “Tell them I say so long.” He seems to think about it for a moment, and then adds, “And good luck.”

 

With that, Brent exits the bus and, Spencer supposes, their lives.

 

*

 

Spencer can’t bring himself to move, to get up and find Ryan, Brendon and Jon. Instead, he sits and waits, staring at his folded hands, until they come to him.

 

Ryan says, “Spencer,” low and alarmed at the same time as Jon murmurs, “Oh baby,” and seems to appear instantly at Spencer’s feet.

 

Jon holds Spencer’s hands carefully in his, looking up through his lashes at Spencer.

 

“He’s gone?” Jon asks gently.

 

Spencer nods in a jerky spasm. Jon makes a soothing noise and brings his hand up, cupping Spencer’s cheek. Spencer’s eyes close and he leans into the touch. He stays like that, suspended, until he feels Ryan and Brendon on either side of him. He opens his eyes.

 

He starts to say, “He said—“

 

But Ryan cuts him off, his voice harsh, absolute. “I don’t care what the fuck he said.”

 

Brendon presses his knee to Spencer’s, his arm curling over Spencer’s shoulders to hold onto to Ryan as well. He says, “We’re better off without him.”

 

Spencer shudders and sighs. “Fuck better. He was our friend.”

 

Ryan looks at him sharply, but Spencer holds his ground. Against him, Spencer feels Ryan collapse a little into himself. “What did he say?”

 

Spencer tells them the gist of it. “And then he said to tell you guys so long, and good luck.”

 

There’s a long silence, finally interrupted by Brendon’s heartfelt, “Fuck.”

 

Jon stays silent, but smoothes the wrinkles out of Spencer’s jeans, his free hand curling protectively around Spencer’s ankle.

 

Spencer says, “I think he was planning this for awhile. Leaving.”

 

Ryan makes a sound almost like a sob, and sinks down onto the ground where he finds himself being pulled immediately into Jon’s lap.

 

Jon stokes Ryan’s hair and Spencer watches, aware of nothing but them and the feel of Brendon at his side.

 

Watching Jon with Ryan, seeing Ryan calm and pliant against him despite everything that’s just happened, Spencer can’t help but say the words he’s never said to Jon aloud, “I love you Jon.”

 

Jon looks up at him, and Spencer can’t quite believe he was able to put such a smile on his face.

 

“I love you too. All of you.”

 

Like gravity, Spencer and Brendon get pulled against Ryan and Jon, tangled together on the floor.

 

Jon presses kisses to their foreheads, and they do the same to him.

 

They don’t mention Brent’s name again.

 

*

 

And so it goes. They talk to the right people and sign the right forms, and Jon is with them for real, part of the band, part of them. Permanent.

 

It feels too right, too natural, and Spencer can’t hold onto his guilt about Brent. He’s heart is too filled up with Ryan and Brendon and Jon, too busy hearing their music, falling into their touch.

 

They carry on, taking turns holding each other up. One tour ends and another begins.

 

Then Ryan’s dad dies, and it takes all of them, wrapped together for days, to bring Ryan back to himself, to put the light back into his eyes.

 

They go back to touring sooner than Spencer’d like, but he trusts Jon and Brendon with Ryan. Knows that with them at his sides and Spencer at his back, Ryan can handle anything.

 

They travel to Europe together, hands clutched tight in a row. Spencer and Brendon ensure Ryan’s nails digging into their hands, Ryan having discovered a ‘over oceans only’ fear of flying when they got on board.

 

Europe is equal parts amazing, crazy, and scary. The crowds are different, country to country. Some wildly enthusiastic, some daring them to try and win them over. They have some of their best shows, on nights like that, when they actually manage it.

 

They take a few days at the end of the European leg of the tour to do some sight seeing, try to be anonymous tourists who are still allowed to hold hands in public, to kiss each other when they feel like it. They feel like it pretty often.

 

They lose Jon in a crowd one afternoon walking around Sicily and Brendon promptly freaks out loudly, flapping his arms while Ryan stands rigid and immobile, opening and closing his mouth. Spencer tries to keep himself calm by trying to keep THEM calm and it only sort of works. Jon’s out of sight, and then even out of feel, for a frantic 20 minutes. Lost to them in a strange and kind of crazy place. They try to call him but of course their phones don’t have service. Spencer barely restrains Brendon from hurling his at the ground in frustration.

 

Right when Spencer is about to suggest they try to find a fucking police station or the American Embassy or whatever it is people DO in these situations a hand is tapping his shoulder and it’s a feeling he knows.

 

He spins around so fast he almost careens onto the ground, but Jon catches him.

 

“Hey, I’ve got you,” Jon says soothingly, holding Spencer steady for a moment before drawing him in close.

 

Spencer clings and calls Jon an asshole at the same time.

 

Ryan’s spidery little fingers wiggle in between where Jon’s arms are attached to Spencer’s back, and Spencer gives in to it, shifting to remain latched onto Jon’s left side while Ryan takes the right. Brendon finds room in the middle.

 

“Where the fuck did you go?” Ryan demands with worry causing actual inflection for once.

 

Jon nudges Ryan’s head with his nose. “Just got lost. After we got separated I went kind of… like a chicken with its head cut off, you know? Running around in crazy directions trying to find you guys. I must have gotten turned around and…” He shakes his head.

 

Spencer leans away a little, looking at Jon’s face. He smiles. “I felt my way back to you though.”

 

The same warm thing that always happens when Jon smiles at him begins to grow in Spencer’s chest. He tucks his face back into Jon’s shoulder, giving his heart time to continue calming itself down. Ryan’s hand snakes around Jon’s back to link with Spencer’s.

 

Brendon butts his head a little against Jon’s chin and orders petulantly, “Promise to never leave me again.” Ryan makes a huffy noise, and Brendon quickly amends, “Us again. Promise to never leave us again, Jon Walker.”

 

Jon chuckles fondly before sobering to kiss Brendon’s nose. His hands each find a part of Ryan and Spencer to hold onto. “I promise.”


End file.
